Troy
by Twilight to Midnight
Summary: Draco loved this woman. Draco worshipped this woman. Draco would do nothing short of destroying the legendary city of Troy to have her, to hold her, to possess her as his own, forever and a day. AU. Warning: Dark Draco and questionable consent.
1. Beginning

A/N: Ok...so this isn't an update of Revenge like you all wanted but I'm re-thinking some of the plot for that story so you'll have to make do with this for now!

This story will be 3 chapters long and it's based on a dream I had about Troy actually and I thought Draco and Hermione could do with a break from those rainy gloomy scottish highlands of Hogwarts.

Disclaimer: All J.K.R's. Don't own. Don't sue.

* * *

Blinding white sands bordered the treacherous Trojan soil; bare feet burnt raw from long exposure to the unblemished sunshine. Heaves of effort wrenched the air, interrupted the calm call of the ocean, scraping of the wooden bows of the ships as they ploughed through the once smooth surface of the beaches.

Gruff commands were launched into the air and actions quickly followed, captains and crewmen alike struggled to right yellowed canvas tents which had seen better days, but still stood bright and proud against the breathtaking blue background of the endless sky and rippling sea.

Among this chaos stood three powerfully built men, two of which were tanned golden from the weeks at sea. One was dark, his skin browned and his face roughened by days of dark growth. His brown hair curled tightly around the nape of his neck, his eyes sparkling with intelligence. Here stood Odysseus, the legendary King of Ithaca, the one who left his beautiful wife Penelope with reluctance to fight a war not his own.

The second was of lighter colouring. He was a golden and earthly embodiment of a God, in fact it was said that Achilles was immortal, much like his beautiful mother. His twisted ash blond locks framed his face as cool blue eyes surveyed his surroundings with something bordering of fierce disdain. Here was the invincible warrior, head high, stance firm, already surveying the battle grounds on which he would take his greatest glory.

The third man was built differently. He was formed like a jungle cat, all lithe corded muscles, hung elegantly on a tall body. He was taller than the other two, more prominent because of his somewhat northern colouring. Unlike the dark Mediterranean skin, he was nearly as pale as the white sands of the Trojan shore, his hair an incredible shade of white blond which shone conspicuously silver in the moonlight. It was a rare event when a man or woman would dare to meet his eyes; the liquid silver burning like molten heat.

Taken from his home in the cold northern climates, Draco Malfoi had been nothing more than another nameless slave but the family he had served in had soon seen his potential. Unable to have children of their own, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoi had adopted the golden child for their own. They had named him Draco, a guardian of all that was old and valued within their ancient pure-blooded family; he may not have of their blood, but he was of their souls, cool, detached and utterly without remorse, he was not here reluctantly, nor was he here for glory…no, he came because fate had foretold that here, on these barren sandy shores, Draco Malfoi would find his greatest acquisition…something which would change his life irrevocably.

* * *

"They've come for you."

The blue sea rippled endless, the sky still cloudlessly blue, below the castle, the marketplace still buzzed with activity; the screams of rowdy children and bargaining merchants carried by the wind almost as far as the grand walls of the royal palace. Green and beautiful courtyards stretched all around…and yet, the woman stood unaffected by the beauty, her mind a whirl of chaos as her eyes surveyed the ominous fleet of ships approaching the far off shore.

"No. They've come for Helen." She stated, matter-of-fact.

Hector looked at the young woman, his eyes hooded, shielding the spark of admiration at this fierce girl.

"They've come for you both. We stole you from Menelaus just as we stole Helen."

"But Helen is the one they've come for." She continued. "The face that launched a thousand ships, her beauty is incomparable. We may have shared the same mother, but my elder sister is of immortal blood. She is far more precious than I could ever be." Again she said this stoically, the cool tone of logic ever present, ever dominant.

Hermione did not resent her sister, far from it; Helen had never been anything but kind. When she had married that disgusting old fool Menelaus, Helen's only condition had been that she be given charge of her young sister and since then, Helen had shielded her from the harsh world, insisted that her sister not be married off at such a young age despite the popular trend.

She was 19 now, most girls her age would have had a few children by this point, but Hermione had always maintained the firm conviction that she was to be a scholar, something forbidden to women, but oh so tempting nonetheless.

Unlike her Helen, Hermione missed Sparta. Troy was a wonderful country, full of vibrant colour and bubbling with vitality and life. But the culture was vastly different, people treated her with fear and disdain rather than respect; only Hector had showed some care for the young girl, treating her as a younger sister, to be protected and cherished like his own blood.

"We won't let them harm you; you are a princess of Troy now." Hector comforted, laying a comforting hand on her delicate hand.

"It makes little difference whether you protect me or not. Helen is the trophy or at least, the perceived trophy; I hope you realise that they've come to plunder Troy." Hermione murmured quietly, turning her head from the ominous sight to gaze at the dark warrior from the corner of her eyes.

Hector watched the intelligent young woman curiously; she may not have had her sister's ethereal beauty, but she had a different sort of charm, delicate and fierce, she looked like a petite avenging angel, her eyes blazing with unnatural intelligence, a feral sort of quality which scared any man who dared to meet her gaze.

"Yes. I know. But the walls of Troy have yet to fall to a foreign enemy, Apollo will protect us…"

Hermione forced down a derisive snort.

"The Gods caused this disaster in the first place. Aphrodite gave Helen to your brother, disregarding Menelaus' rage at being defied."

The dark warrior sucked in a weary breath.

"Be very careful of what you say of our Gods, kitten." Hermione smiled at the gentle reproof, her grin widening as she heard his endearment.

"You are quite right Hector, I'm afraid I did not think before I spoke. I shall go offer a prayer in recompense."

He wrapped a golden brown curl around his finger and tugged gently. Hermione studied his worried countenance and gave him a gentle smile.

"Do not fret, Hector of Troy. The Gods will guide us. I shall visit Briseis in Apollo's temple and pray for the safety of Troy and all who lie within it. Go; spend some time with Andromache and Astyanax."

Hermione smiled gently and moved away. Stepping into cool shade of the palace, Hermione allowed her sandal-clad feet to whisper across the luxurious marble floors, ignoring the vibrant blue inlaid tiles which had once fascinated her to no end when she had first been assigned these rooms. Silently, she breezed into her sitting rooms, then beyond and into the shadowy corridor.

It was as silent as death. No living creature moved, even the air seemed to still under the ominous presence of the Greeks. The rumours had already spread through the palace.

The great tyrant King, Agamemnon, had summoned the greatest army ever seen, not only in numbers but also in skill.

Odysseus with his wit and sharp mind, as cunning as the Gods.

Achilles, the immortal and invincible warrior, unbeaten and perhaps unbeatable.

Draco, mystery embodied…skill like Achilles, cunning like Odysseus and a ruthless darkness all his own.

Hermione had always thought him a myth, born of nothing more than giddy whispers from maids when she had resided in the royal Spartan palace. But now these rumours had arrived with the Grecian fleet, the fair haired prince come to aid Agamemnon's siege upon the golden city.

As she emerged from the cool shadow of the over-arching palace, Hermione felt the glaring heat hit her face and she quickly drew the cream linen scarf over her wild curls. As the palace gate swung noiselessly open, a heavily armed guard turned and followed, falling a step behind with cautious reverence.

Before her, the chaos and noise of the city unfolded. Here in this bustling city, Hermione could almost close her eyes and imagine herself home again, in the bustling capital of Sparta, her people calling out joyously in welcome as she touched their hands gently and they flitted gently across her himation.

But there were no cheers and no happy welcomes; instead, as she opened her golden eyes, she was met with curious and cautious faces. The women drew their light scarves across their faces and parted silently as she advanced. The men dared to linger a moment longer, grim expressions warring with those of hunger, but they too eventually drew aside to allow her to pass.

Her petite figure forged forwards regardless, her head down turned, allowing the cream scarf to swallow her delicate features. Behind her, she could hear the Trojan guard shadowing her footsteps, his armour clanking clumsily against his broadsword. Hermione sighed wearily. She hardly approved of violence but with the arrival of the Greeks, the streets were hardly safe for her to venture upon alone, now that Trojans were up in arms about the invasion of their land.

Pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly, Hermione sped up, her feet barely raising a stir on the clean Trojan streets. As she emerged in the central square, she plunged eagerly into the crowd, her face still obscured by linen even as she glanced tiredly up at the immense golden figure of Apollo watching over his people from the city centre. Grand buildings surrounded the bustling area, circling noisy little stalls of vendors selling their wares.

As Hermione absorbed her atmosphere, tasting the vitality in the air, she smiled as she watched the enthusiastic bartering, coins and wares swapping hands at an amazing rate. At least here, life went on uninterrupted, unimpeded by the imminent threat which at this moment was setting up camp upon their golden shores.

Suddenly, Hermione turned and glanced quickly behind her. The guard was gone, lost among the crowd. She crooked her head as she glanced back. Vaguely, his voice nearly drowned by the exclamations of the crowd, Hermione heard his call, her name echoing faintly in the air before being swallowed by another yell.

"My lady Hermione! My lady! You must not…"

The rest was drowned by the voices of the crowd and Hermione heard no more. Instead, of turning to find her guard, Hermione spun away, her feet carrying her away from the bustling market square, past the public baths and the grand mansions lined with pillars of solid stone.

The road that led to the city gate was still well populated, the people upon the road mostly moving into the safety of the great walls rather than exiting them like her. As she observed, cart after cart of food and jugs of unknown liquid were being ushered into the city and with a flash of certainty, Hermione realised that King Priam had ordered the city to be well stocked, in preparation for a war.

Hermione thought fondly of the kindly old man who had welcomed her with open arms into a family which she had not deserved. She had felt sheltered and safe, at peace for the very first time in her life and what had she brought the man who had offered her this sanctuary? Nothing but strife, chaos and eventually death.

Shaking her head, Hermione bypassed the gates, ever cautious of the watching sentries, their eyes following her, weighing heavily upon her shoulders. It would be so simple for one of them to capture her now, give her to the Spartans and perhaps assuage a little of that burning fury.

A bruising hand seized her arm and her startled gaze flew to that of the soldier who held onto her relentlessly.

He was young, barely a day of twenty, his face tanned and still smooth from his youth. Instead of looking fierce and angry, the soldier seemed anxious, his eyes searched her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to see beneath the cream scarf Hermione still held wrapped around her face.

"My lady, it is not safe to leave the city at this time, I beg you to return to the safety of your home. The Greeks have come and the King has ordered the gates to be sealed before sundown. You must not…"

Hermione lowered her head demurely, hiding the relief suffusing her features.

"Soldier, what of the priests? They still guard the temple of Apollo."

The young man frowned. "They have refused to leave their sacred abode thus a guard has been dispatched to protect them and remove them from the temple should the necessity arise."

Hermione raised her head and inclined it respectfully.

"Then I should be quite safe soldier, I am only going to the temple to offer my prayers to Apollo and I expect I shall return forthwith. Worry not soldier, for you have done well to stop me and inquire."

The grip upon her elbow instantly slackened as the young man took on a look of flattered modesty. He bowed reverently and waved her forwards, returning to the company of his fellow sentries as they smirked and jeered at the deep becoming blush upon the young man's cheeks.

Smiling grimly, Hermione fixed her eyes on the winding path, a well worn trade route traversed by so many travellers before her, many of whom never lived to see those great walls again. She shook her head at the grim thought and instead fixed her attention on the dusty hem of chiton as it swayed along the dusty path.

Miles of arid land stretched before her and Hermione could see nothing but that well-worn trade path, now abandoned by all but the circling vultures. It seemed to stretch endlessly and she began to sweat lightly into her himation as a few stray curls stuck to her forehead.

Wiping her brow with the soft, sun starched material; Hermione crested another hill and paused. The sparkling Aegean stretched endlessly before her eyes, the blue such a startling colour it reminded her of nothing else but Hector's eyes, the incredible crystal blue of the Trojan royals, a beautiful colour which the warrior prince had passed onto his baby son, Astyanax.

A surge of determination swept her small form and new strength flooded her veins. She would save them, regardless of the cost. Somehow, someway, she would stem the blood that would soon stain these yellow sands.

As she tore her eyes away from pristine waters, Hermione forced her eyes to focus on the swarming dark masses upon the beach. The large black structures beached upon the sand, undoubtedly the enemy ships.

Earlier that day, Hermione had seen all the sails marking the ships. One had stood out above all, a dark green sail with a silver lining, beautiful and unique among the riff raff. She felt suddenly inexplicably drawn to the boat, but had shaken it off. Now as she stood surveying the shores, still from a fair distance, she felt that same pull.

Hermione wrenched her eyes from the shores and instead stared off some distance inland. There, among more arid land and a stark backdrop, was the gloriously white temple of Apollo. As her feet marched her toward the building, Hermione studied the beautiful golden statue crouching gracefully before the pillars.

The burning heat of the barren land seeped through her fine kid leather sandals and Hermione quickened her step. The temple began to loom, but even at a closer distance, it was not as magnificent as the buildings within the great walls of Troy. Perhaps this was what angered the sun God…

Shaking away the ominous thoughts, Hermione dropped the cream scarf from her head and sprinted unreservedly up the steps, her curls roused by the heat, fluttered behind her.

Reaching the cooler interior, Hermione slowed her pace, once again falling into an elegant glide as she bowed politely to the murmuring priests who did not pause as they burnt incense and muttered deep resonating prayers.

"Briseis!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing toward a young woman with dark curls, she threw herself into the welcoming arms, breathing in the clean scent of the woman's priestess garments.

Trembling with repressed emotion, Hermione leant away from Briseis, her eyes bright with unshed tears. The priestess had been one of the first women to welcome the two Spartan sisters and since Briseis and Hermione were of similar age, they had formed something of a rapport. Where Hermione wanted to become a scholar, study the cultures of the world and travel to those mysterious northern lands, Briseis was determined to devote her heart and soul to the Gods. Hermione had admired her for her conviction, but she had always been far too logical to devote herself to something as insubstantial as the Gods.

"It's all about faith, Hermione." Briseis had told her repeatedly, her innate beauty shining in her eyes. She could only shake her head and the two women would rarely ever speak of this again.

Now, in the dark moments brought on by the arrival of the Greeks, Hermione was forced to seek a power entirely beyond the realm of parchments and theories.

"They've come to destroy Troy, Briseis. I must have angered the Gods by coming with Helen, I was never meant to come…!"

The dark haired priestess stroked her hair slowly.

"You must not think that, Mione. Apollo will protect this land, he will…"

Hermione clenched her teeth in worry. "No…I have angered the Gods, they seek retribution. You do not understand the Greeks as I do, you have not lived among them, you have not met Agamemnon nor do you understand the greed of that man…"

"Then surely the Gods would punish him…"

Wild curls flew as Hermione shook her head vehemently.

"No…"

Briseis smiled a little and grasped the young woman's arms.

"Fear not, Hermione of Troy. Our walls have never been felled. Nor will they fall now. Calm yourself in prayer…go." Pushing her toward a silent antechamber, Briseis left Hermione to the mercy of her own guilt and convictions.

The rough hewn walls were silent and echoed her every movement with sound. As Hermione's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found herself staring at simple granite statue. It held none of the glory of the golden embodiments of Apollo which stood within the city square and outside this very temple, but the sheer simplicity of the crouching God, gave it all the more divine quality.

Lowering herself to her knees, Hermione raised her hands in earnest prayer. She had brought this upon Troy, upon all the innocents which resided in a city which craved only peace. Helen could not be blamed, she had spent her childhood under a manipulative father and was then married to a bumbling drunk at fourteen, she deserved to escape, to start a new life. But Hermione, she had fled for the sole selfish reason of keeping her sister close.

…And now she had added to the burden.

The Gods were angry. They were furious.

Hermione clenched her hands tightly before, her brow nearly touching the stone floor as she sobbed dryly.

When she had retained control of herself once more, Hermione straightened, her knees still pressed with bruising pressure against the stone. From her himation, Hermione drew a knife. It was by no means a jewelled, ornamental piece, far from it. This knife was coarsely made with a dull sort of metal embedded in a roughly carved handle. The blade held nicks but it was still wickedly sharp.

With trembling hands, Hermione raised the knife to her throat, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"I offer myself…"

* * *

Aphrodite lazed languidly upon her throne, toying with a perfect tendril of silky spun gold, her startling eyes fixed on the swirling scene playing out below in the mortal realms.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched the beautiful mortal man swing his sword in wide graceful arcs, sending his enemies to the dust as striking red life-blood stained the once sacred temple floors of Apollo.

Beside her stood that very God, his face pale with fury as his hands tightened on the Golden bow, his knuckles standing in pale contrast to his golden tanned skin.

"This is monstrous! See how he is desecrating my temple! See how he disregards the powers of the immortal! I will see him dead! Sent to Hades…"

The Goddess of love and lust waved aside the Golden God. "You are not to harm him. I have a special fondness…"

"You're in lust with a useless mortal!" Came the harsh rebuttal, but Apollo remained still, his eyes fixed furiously upon the scene of mortal destruction.

Aphrodite sighed lazily, her eyes caressing the male form still in the full heat of battle. The long lithe muscles, the wonderful ivory skin, eyes as mercurial as quicksilver, the incredible height and oh…that face…

So lost was the Goddess in her admiration that she quite nearly missed the sun God's sudden fascination within a new scene. Rising quickly, she floated across to Apollo's new pool of visions and stood silently aside him.

There in the mortal world, kneeled a delicate young woman, her face silently upturned as her cheeks ran with tears, with a flash, those eyes snapped open and an incredible intelligence hit the Goddess with full force. Gasping lightly, Aphrodite clutched at her chest.

Those stunning golden eyes!

Yet, even as she watched, those eyes shuttered closed again and the Goddess watched as a coarse blade was brought to that milky throat, pressing and pressing.

"No!" Aphrodite knew not what possessed her to leap forward in order to intervene, but she could feel no less compelled even as Apollo held her back.

"She is my sacrifice! Her blood will cleanse my temple! I will not allow…"

"Think!" Aphrodite fought. "Her blood is that of an innocent. She has not wronged you and her blood would serve no purpose, bring you no satisfaction! Look," the Goddess directed the vision a little further afield. "Here comes Hector, he shall slay your enemies, bathe your temple with all the blood of your enemies! Leave the child be!"

Ares rumbled mirthfully, his eyes alight with the excitement of battle.

"Let the female have her toy. Let us concern ourselves with the business of men."

Apollo watched on, satisfied by each jolt of wrenching pain suffered upon the Greeks. He waved his hand dismissively, allowing both Ares and Aphrodite to wreak their havoc, uninterrupted by his protests.

"I have a proposal for you." Ares murmured, his hand caressing the soft flesh of the Goddess.

Aphrodite gathered her attention upon the war God, one eyebrow raised critically.

"Do you see him?" Ares pointed to the tall blond man, duelling Hector with uncontrollable furore. "Draco Malfoi."

The Goddess nodded curiously, her hand carefully staying that of the girl's, the knife still poised at her throat.

"What of him?" Aphrodite inquired, eyeing the man she had been admiring earlier.

"He is one of my most prized warriors." Ares gestured. "I wish to reward him…with a mate."

The Goddess of love and lust raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

"And why would I want to do such a thing for you?"

"You quite obviously pity the child, who better to protect her than a warrior such as mine?"

Her blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why not Achilles then? He is the greatest…"

"Achilles is destined for Hades; he came to this land seeking glory at the price of his mortality. Malfoi on the other hand, will survive to a ripe old age, of that, I can guarantee."

A long pause ensued, Aphrodite still befuddling the mind of the small woman, staying her hand upon the sharp knife. "I shall make her fall in love with him." She said determinedly, her eyes narrowing.

She reached forward, stretching through the pool of visions to touch the forehead of the girl still suspended in time.

"No." Ares cautioned. "That would be of no use. He would not hesitate to slay her in battle." The Goddess smirked and retracted her hand. Shifting a little, she reached through her original pool of visions and touched a single finger to the heated flesh of Draco's pale chest. The warrior didn't even pause in his battle as Aphrodite ran her finger delicately across his skin and allowed the tip to come to a rest above his heart.

"So be it."

* * *

BANG!

Enraged screams and curses rent the air and the clashing of swords echoed clearly through the sacred rooms. Briseis burst into the chamber of Apollo, her face stained with tears.

The knife slipped from her lifeless hands, dropping unnoticed to the floor as the priestess seized Hermione by the elbow and wrenched her to her feet.

"You must run! The Greeks have come!" Briseis was sobbing her words, fear laced in very syllable. "The soldiers say it's Achilles himself! Go, before there are no guards left!"

Hermione was torn; fear tainted every cell of her body as her instincts seized control of every nerve ending, forcing her body to move, to run.

"Come! This way!" Briseis urged, her grip still solid and unrelenting.

"NO!" Hermione's mind was still a whirl of turmoil. "What of the priests?! What of…"

"The priests are dead! The Greeks have slain them all! Come!"

"What of you?!"

"I must stay Hermione; I am a priestess of Apollo…!"

"They'll kill you! They…"

"It matters not! Hector is coming! Go!"

Hermione held on desperately to the priestess, her wild hair blinding her as she swung about in the darkness, allowing Briseis to push her down a steep flight of stairs.

"What…?!"

"It's a passageway used by the very first priests of this temple, it will lead you to the back of the temple. When you emerge, run, run for the walls…"

"No! Briseis, come! You must not stay…"

But it was already too late, the trap door swung shut with a firm thud behind her and no matter how hard Hermione scraped at the rock, the door would not reveal itself. With no choice but forward, Hermione felt blindly at the rough cut walls, her palms raw with her effort. The darkness seeped into her bones, making her shiver with fear until she finally hit a solid end.

In sheer panic, Hermione rammed herself against the dead end again and again until she felt the stone begin to give, shift and groan. Sand began to dislodge from the blocked pathway and soon enough, the door gave a great shuddering moan and opened, flooding the passageway with blinding white light. Scrambling into the fresh air, Hermione wiped her watering eyes and began stumbling toward the distant walls of Troy.

The clang of swords drew her attention and Hermione swung her head sideways, blinking away the blinding light to focus on a pair of fighters, one as dark as the other was fair.

Hector!

It was Hector who was duelling an unknown man.

Choking down her exclamation of horror, Hermione could only watch as the pale blond man swung his sword at Hector with incredible force, so that even she felt the aftershocks radiating through her body. With a wrenching groan Hector dodged away from the tall warrior's grasp, taking a wild and tired swing which caused the Greek to laugh mockingly.

The prince of Troy chose that moment to look up. His eyes instantly met Hermione's; he took in her ripped and dusty chiton, her himation askew and falling from her shoulders. His eyes screamed at her to run, turn and run. But she found she couldn't move, in fact, her eyes were not even fixed upon Hector. Instead, she watched in sickening horror as the warrior turned in the direction of Hector's gaze, his incredibly silver gaze catching hers.

"Kitten, run!" Hector screamed at her.

Gold and silver met, clashed and warred; then held.

Heart pounding, Hermione turned and ran.

* * *

He felt it.

Draco felt the deep twisting roar build within his chest, the feral moan ripped at his throat as he stared at the beautiful woman.

Her gold eyes were wide with fear and shock and Draco drank her in with greedy eyes.

Was this Hector's wife…was this Andromache who bore Hector a son?

Deep unyielding fury and jealousy burst from his heart and for an instant, he was consumed by the feral beast within.

Yet, her eyes. Full of the innocence of the unknown. No women could retain that spark of naivety if they had been physically claimed by a man.

Satisfied with his deduction, Draco allowed his eyes to roam her form. Delicate and golden, she was so tiny she would barely reach his chest. Her eyes held something darker than innocence, something which made his inner instincts roar with pleasure…he had to have her…who was she?

"Kitten, run!" Hector bellowed.

His eyes searched hers, digging to the very depths of her soul.

The kitten turned and bolted.

* * *

A/N: Their first meeting...not as romantic as the modern day "eyes meet across a crowded room" theme, but in my opinion, much more appropriate for the time. The next chapter should be coming soon because I'm rather eager to finish this as I am working on Revenge is All the Sweeter at the same time.

Please review.

Always,

Twilight to Midnight


	2. Middle

A/N: Here is part 2 (there will only be three remember?). Thanks for the brilliant response I got from everyone and I was rather motivated to finish the second chapter early. Anyway, this chapter is getting to the point and the third chapter will be considered "the point". Hope you stick with me till it finishes, which should be next week if all goes to plan.

Disclaimer: You know the drill, not mine, don't sue.

* * *

Hermione ran until her lungs were burning with the heat, she ran until her feet were blistered and sore, until the dust clouded her eyes and her knees buckled under her weight. The city walls were well within sight and a plethora of guards ran to meet her.

Strong calloused hands grasped her by her elbows as two soldiers heaved her lightly onto their shoulders. A captain serving under Hector instantly recognised her and quickly gestured for her to be brought forward. The soldiers handed her to the captain who lifted her onto the restless mare.

Hermione was insensible to the jolts and shifts of the horse, so consumed as she was by her own exhaustion. When her eyes opened again, the ground flying away beneath her, or so it seemed; the thundering of the hooves soon alerted her to the fact that she was astride a horse.

Moaning quietly, she righted herself and rested her pounding head against the soldier who was supporting her.

"What…"

"Be still, my lady. You are not well. I am taking you back to the palace."

She coughed dryly as she clenched her hands into his rough woven tunic.

"Water." She rasped; her tongue felt like sand paper, grounding against the roof of her mouth.

The captain fumbled for a moment at his side and retrieved a deer skin flask, handing it to Hermione who weakly uncorked it and allowed the cool liquid to slide down her parched throat. She moaned quietly and clenched her eyes shut again.

Slowly, the dizziness began to fade and Hermione felt herself being lifted from the horse and lowered slightly into another set of arms. Opening her eyes, she stared at her surroundings, feeling an instant of relief as she took in the familiar sight of the inner marble walls of the Trojan palace.

"Hermione! Thank the Gods, we all thought you…" Andromache opened her welcoming arms in greeting. Even under a state of duress, the wonderfully tall elegant figure was the model of calm reassurance, her compassion and sweetness never faltering despite the trouble the two Spartan princesses had brought to their shores.

Being engulfed by those arms made Hermione clench her teeth together and choke out what she could in comfort.

"I saw Hector. He was safe, duelling with a Greek."

The arms around her tightened convulsively and relaxed, gently releasing her from their warm embrace. Hermione swayed on her feet momentarily and then steeled herself with her iron will.

"Briseis refused to leave the temple."

Andromache laid a hand to her heart and shook her head.

"May Apollo shield her."

* * *

Roaring with fury, Draco brought his sword down with menacing force against Hectors defences. His eyes shone and glowed demonic silver as he allowed the flames to engulf his mind and the battle furore to heat his blood. This man, this warrior of Troy had allowed Draco's prey to escape and for a Malfoi, it was inexcusable. With another wild roar, the sword was swept down with a jolting force causing Hector to stumble with the sheer force of the blow.

Uncaring of the consequences of his reckless actions, Draco pushed forward, determined to punish the man who had warned his little _kitten_. He resented the other man for that intimacy. Was not his wife enough for him, did he seek to claim that honey golden beauty for his own as well?

Draco would never allow it. She was his now. He would claim her, his spoils of war. Agamemnon was here for wealth, Achilles here for glory and now he was here for her.

So consumed in his own world of obsession and unresolvable anger, Draco was hit unexpectedly by a sudden strong blow near his abdomen and reached down gingerly, fingering the dent in his cumbersome metal armour.

"Pay attention, boy!" Achilles roared as he swept past the young man, his sword swinging skilfully at Hector, taking over the duel. There was a loud clashing of swords as both Hector and Achilles grunted with effort. Draco felt self-loathing creep up his spine, replacing the sensation of the burning sun with a cool chill. Turning his head away from the two warriors, he surveyed the chaos behind him; the oncoming Trojan soldiers seemed to be an endless swarm of ants cresting the arid hills as they swept towards their besieged temple.

A cool smirk stole over his features and as casually as if he were strolling along a deserted beach, Draco plunged himself into the fray and allowed the chilling mindset of a ruthless predator to overtake his more human instincts. Barely registering a thought, Draco brought his skill and brutality down onto the unsuspecting soldiers, their eyes widening as the incredibly tall warrior destroyed their ranks and glided through the bloodshed like a spectre of death.

Blood stained his tunic and pteruges, his sword dripping with the souls of his opponents as he ploughed steadily forward through the ranks, his eyes fixed on the distant walls of Troy, behind him swept his battalion, their raucous cruel laughter spurring him on.

Sending a silent acknowledgement to his patron God Ares, Draco raised his sword to the throat of another Trojan, the vulnerable exposed flesh gleaming from sweat. Draco's silver gaze met and held the plain brown eyes, his killer's smile blooming on his face.

"Give my regards to Hades, friend."

The soldier choked out a terrified moan, his eyes widening further as Draco plunged the sword deep into his throat. The gurgle of blood soothed the blonde's nerves and the sharp blade swept out effortlessly. Before the dead soldier could even sink to the dirt, Draco had moved on, his sword sweeping easily into the flesh of another enemy.

The bloodshed appeased Draco only a little. With each moment that passed, his little _kitten_ was slipping further from his grasp and Gods help him he would never relinquish his hold on her. He needed to know her name, needed to make it known that when those pretentious Trojan walls fell, that she was not to be touched or harmed. He would need to know how to find her, who she was.

By the state of her apparel, Draco could easily perceive the wealth of her family. The fact that Troy's most prized princeling knew her was another factor also. Was she a princess? Did she reside in the palace, perhaps a courtier? Shaking away her image, Draco quickly dispatched another enemy.

Troy was a vast city; to find her, he would need facts. For that, he would require a prisoner, a hostage of some sort; someone high enough on the ladder to recognise royalty. Fixing his eyes in the distance, Draco spotted a soldier seated on a rearing horse, undoubtedly a commander to the Trojan troops. Baring his teeth in a feral smile, Draco waved his battalion forward and with a roar they obeyed, surrounding the enemy soldiers about him, clearing a path for their exalted leader, straight towards the man atop the horse whose eyes were now wide with alarm.

With a surge of speed, Draco rushed forward, his image a blur to his enemies as Ares shielded his prized warrior. In an instant, Draco was felling the distressed horse, watching dispassionately as the creature's legs gave way, toppling its rider to the ground before he even had the chance to register the blonde's presence. The bleeding steed's panicked moans rent the air and with a quick swipe of his sword, Draco silenced the noise before turning to the man.

"Identify yourself." Draco hissed.

The man stayed absolutely silent, his right leg still crushed beneath his fallen horse. Pain was evident on his face, sweat drenching his anguished features.

"Answer me!"

Still the man refused to answer, only releasing an agonised moan, his hand closing convulsively around his sword hilt.

Growling, Draco struck the sword out of the man's hands and leant forward, his hand closing tightly around the man's throat. With a bone jarring surge of strength, Draco pulled the man free of the carcass of his horse, ignoring the tortured moan as his broken leg was dragged carelessly free. Uncaring of the man's useless struggles, Draco lifted him into the air and shook him as if the soldier weighed nothing. His well armoured body wavered like a rag doll as the reverential troops around them paused to stare with fearful awe at the blond creature standing isolated from the fray.

"Answer me!" Draco roared again as he pitched the choking man to the dirt at his feet. The soldier barely had time to draw in a burning lungful of air before a sandaled foot descended on his throat. Clawing uselessly at the pale limb crushing his throat, he gurgled a response.

"Kill me."

Not expecting to hear a rebellious answer, Draco released the man and quickly backhanded him with a crushing force, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. Draco watched dispassionately as the soldier whimpered and attempted to drag his body away, curling up instinctively as he cradled the crushed side of his face.

His patience ran thin and the afternoon sun bore down on him fiercely making his temper strain once more against his restraint but before he could hit the man again for his defiance, there was an unprecedented roar from the Trojans followed by a period of eerie silence. Raising his head, Draco scanned the suddenly still crowd curiously, noting the single minded focus of the cacophony of men on a single point. He directed his eyes toward the spectacle too and smirked darkly.

There, on the steps of the Apollo's temple, stood Achilles, his sword point resting negligently against a fierce Hector. The golden warrior taunted the Trojan prince whose severe expression faltered upon some unheard words. Draco's eyebrows rose as the sword was lowered, not a drop of blood shed in its wake. Gesturing casually, Achilles waved off the dark haired man, his fierce warriors parting around Hector as the Prince stumbled confused down the steps of the temple and mounted his horse and escaped under the watchful eye of his guard.

As the dust swallowed Hectors retreat, the Trojan soldiers began to hesitate in their movements and taking their leaders example, began to retreat, eyeing the Greeks with barely repressed hostility.

"Release him." A voice to Draco's right stated, the slight quiver beneath did not escape his notice. Moving as if he had all the time in the world, Draco turned to meet the man's gaze and steadily stared him down.

"Don't presume to command me, Trojan."

The man seemed to wilt under the unnerving silver gaze.

"Greek, it is a truce for now. Killing an injured soldier in such a fashion is below even the likes of you."

Draco let loose a deprecating chuckle.

"Very well, I shall release him to you, given that you answer my questions satisfactorily."

The defiant soldier bristled in annoyance. "I will not…!"

Draco did not wait for the man to finish his denial before he leant down and smashed a solid fist into the soldier still lying curled in the arid soil. Another satisfying crunch of bone assailed Draco's ears and his smile became mocking as he straightened once more.

"As you were saying…?"

The soldier paled as he watched his comrade writhe in pain, his moans muffled only by the crushed bones and mutilated flesh in his face.

"What…what questions?" The man capitulated breathlessly.

"Who was she?" Draco murmured quietly, his eyes glinting as he raised himself to his full height, standing at least a head taller than the rest.

"Whom?" Came the frightened answer. "I do not understand…"

Draco had seen the flash of panicked recognition on the soldier's face. The stupid man could barely hide the instant of knowledge which had been betrayed on his browned features. Impatience was wearing thin on his nerves and without hesitation; Draco raised his sword and swept it in a lightening fast arc.

Red stained the ground before a blood curdling scream ripped through the air. A collective gasp came from the troops, Greeks and Trojans alike watched with disgust as the severed hand rolled away from the victim and came to rest, open palmed mere feet away from the edge of the crowd.

"Who was she?" Draco growled once more.

The soldier broke into a cold sweat and hesitated, denial poised on his tongue but Draco had expected it. Raising his sword once more…

"No…" Came the agonised moan from the man lying in the dirt, his words barely comprehensible.

"Are you going to tell me, soldier?" Draco asked, amusement colouring his voice as the men surrounding them shuddered.

Pain filled eyes flitted open and stared at Draco defiantly before it swept past him to rest on the soldier under inquisition.

"Do not…do not…" A pained gurgle cut off his words as Draco landed a heavy kick against his side.

"Hermione!" The pressured soldier gasped out causing Draco to raise his eyes and look curiously at the bumbling man.

"Hermione of Sparta, Helen's sister. She…she…"

"Quiet!" Hissed another soldier standing near him. "She is of the royal…"

"No! She brought this on us! The whore deserves to die!"

A red haze crept into Draco's gaze. Seizing the dagger sheathed against his leg, he launched it into the air with deadly speed. There was no time to react as the Trojan soldiers watched, horror struck as the blade sunk into the throat of the man who had spoken, landing true and deep.

Panic infused the crowd and chaos reigned. The Greeks, following their leader, drew weapons long forgotten and charged once more into the fray, driving the Trojans back, causing them to separate and flee, kicking up dust as they headed quickly for the distant walls.

Pained cries reached Draco's ears forcing him to look down once more upon his pitiable prey.

"Kill me." The man pleaded again, his eyes boring into the inhuman silver orbs again.

"No." Draco said, smiling lightly. "I think not."

Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Draco turned back towards the beach, ignoring the pathetic pleas haunting his steps. A hiss of breath passed between his bared teeth as he heard the man shuffle and struggle unsteadily to his feet.

"Run back home, boy. Tell my little _kitten _I'm coming for her."

The soldier could not doubt who this _kitten_ was.

* * *

Night had descended on Troy, Apollo withdrawing the sun, allowing the cool darkness to consume the hot day. Fresh breezes swept the palace grounds, ruffling the foliage of exotic royal gardens and chilling the warm atmosphere of the palace.

In the heavens, stars twinkled and flashed while the moon watched over the lands as the sun would during the day. The eerie sensation of being watched haunted every women and man who dared to venture into the streets that night.

Inside the palace, every human and animal alike retained an alert stillness.

King Priam watched his eldest son proudly. His eyes travelled worriedly over the scrapes and bruises but finding Hector otherwise unharmed allowed him to relax back onto his throne.

"I encountered Achilles." Hector's voice sliced through the silence, the name lingered, flavouring the air with menace.

"He is as great as they say." The warrior continued; worries making him furrow his brows. "Is Hermione well? Did she…?"

Priam slid from his seat and glided to where his son sat.

"She is resting in her rooms, a little shaken but otherwise fine. She has suffered an ordeal today." The king hesitated. "And Briseis?"

Hector shook his head tiredly, allowing his dark curls to fall riot over his eyes. "I cannot say. Captured or perhaps dead, only the Gods know." Grim sadness rose from his chest to clog his throat and he close his eyes tiredly, avoiding his father's pitying gaze.

"I failed." He whispered. "I failed Briseis and I nearly failed Hermione."

"No. You have not. These Greeks have tested Apollo's will today. They cannot survive. Apollo will stand on our side from this day on. The Gods have willed this, to test Troy's strength and faith, and we shall not fail or disappoint."

The dark prince's head snapped up, his eyes fixed darkly on his father.

"This is about Agamemnon's greed father…"

"Do not question the Gods!"

Hector sighed impatiently. "The Gods will not fight our war for us! We must be very careful…"

"Apollo will protect us."

"Then the Greeks undoubtedly have Gods to protect them."

They were at a stalemate and Hector stared up at his father, his eyes unwavering as Priam surveyed his son.

"Perhaps…"

A servant burst into the room, his breath harsh as he bowed hastily.

"Forgive the interruption, your majesty, your highness, but…"

There was a wheezy gasp followed by some stumbling steps. From the darkness of the corridor emerged the hunched form of a man, one arm in a sling, his hair hanging bedraggled around a shadowy face.

"Prife 'ector…pffease…ah…I musf…"

At that moment, the man emerged into the warm glow of the torches and both royal men recoiled, nearly stepping back in horror.

"He was beaten." The servant replied to the unasked question. "By the Greek, Malfoi."

Priam paled visibly, his face averted from the sight of the deformed man. "Apollo help us. What manner of weapon does this Greek choose to wield?"

The injured soldier hung his head, concealing himself in the shadows between two flames. His mutilated face did not allow him normal speech, the pain little dulled by the healing herbs held in place by rough bandaging.

"Hi' fifsh, your mashgesty." Spittle dripped from the man's chin onto the stub that was his arm, the blood already seeping through the freshly bandaged wound. The servant bowed his head and translated humbly.

"His fists, your majesty." Hesitating, he added. "The other soldiers say that Malfoi crushed his face with…with one hit. They whisper of his inhuman strength, that he is a giant amongst men…that he…"

Hector waved him away. "He is a man, just as I. His height and strength are formidable, but there is nothing inhuman about it."

Suitably humbled, the servant subsided and watched as the prince approached the man, his head titled sideways to equalise their heights.

"My sincere apologies for the suffering you have gone through. Rest assured that Draco Malfoi will be punished for his crimes."

The deformed soldier shook his head, wincing as he jolted his wounds.

"No. I dishd no conm to chpeak of tha'. 'ermionee…ghee puhrincess is in grea' duhdanger…"

"Hermione is in danger." Hector repeated slowly. "What do you mean?"

"Malf…f…foi…" The man spat the name, fearfully. "'e said tha' 'e is conming fffor 'er. Fffor 'is _kkkitten_."

Hector paled visibly. "He saw her. When she was fleeing…he saw her…what…what else did he say?"

The man shook his head with a grimace.

"Tha' all. No mmmorre."

The man swayed on his feet and Hector steadied him absent-mindedly.

"No." He whispered.

The white haired king gestured for the servant to take the man and leave. Rushing forward, this was quickly accomplished, leaving the King shoulder to shoulder with his son.

"We must tell her…" Hector began.

"No." King Priam shook his head gently. "She is but a child, it would not do to burden her with something which may never come into fruition."

"What if it does, father? What if the Greeks penetrate these walls? Are we to leave her to him, innocent of her fate…?"

"What good would it do to warn? She would only become distressed and alarmed. No, it would serve no purpose."

Hector rubbed his temples wearily, his eyes pleading with his father.

"Hermione is bright. She would ensure that she take extra precautions, be prepared for the worst."

"No," Priam shook his head vigorously. "Do not alarm her. I forbid you to scare the poor child."

There was a moment of strained silence before Hector bowed stiffly and left the room. Fleeing to the cool darkness of the connecting corridor, Hector roughly brushed his hair from his eyes, ruffling the dark curls in frustration. A growl was lodged in his throat and he leant away from the glaring brightness of the torches.

Determinedly, he shoved himself away from the wall and launched himself toward east wing of the Trojan palace. He padded along the granite floors, his footsteps muted by his sandals. The cool breezes continued to flow throughout the palace, urging him on, pushing him through the shadows as he turned down corridor after corridor.

The hour was late, not a soul stirred but Hector went barrelling down the corridor uncaring. Somewhere in this palace, his perfect little Astyanax was in the warm arms of Andromache, his brother Paris slept soundly with his lover Helen. All around the palace, lovers joined lovers in their warmed beds, children slept in the safe arms of their mothers, and even the Greeks must be finding comfort and strength in their camaraderie, singing bawdy tunes as they sat around a roaring fire.

Only Hector seemed to feel the dark shadow descending upon their perfect little world, a menacing force sent here to tear sons from their mothers, lovers from lovers and to throw an innocent woman into the arms of a monster.

At last he arrived. Ducking into the elegantly decorated receiving chamber, he saw the beautiful blue tiles inlaid against the walls, made darker still by the flickering light, then off to the side, a small antechamber where her maid slept peacefully, ignorant to his presence.

He chose not to wake her; instead, he passed into the connecting bedroom. With its open doorways and pristine white marble pillars, the room was airy, lit only by the silvery moonlight. Her small body was shrouded in thin sheets, her face turned towards the open balconies thus illuminated by the moon.

Lying there, she looked so innocent, her expression reminiscent of that of his infant son. Untouched by the horrors of the world, purity embodied in the impure human form, Hector watched the woman child, a sister unexpectedly gained but cherished as if she were of blood.

He sat upon her bed and gently brushed back unruly locks of her hair, admiring the charming spring in her curls. Everything about her embodied rich health, golden brown curls made black by the moonlight, golden orbs for eyes shielded by pale eyelids lined with dark curling lashes.

"Little kitten, a monster is coming for you. You don't deserve it, but Draco Malfoi is coming and he will not be denied. I'm so sorry I could not tell you but father is right, when the Gods have decided your fate, there can be no fight, no struggle, there is only surrender."

Hector stroked her hair again.

"I will protect you. For as long as I stand, Malfoi shall have no rights to you. For as long as I stand, I will protect you from all these monsters."

Rising stealthily, Hector retreated.

His back was turned as he left thus he did not see Hermione's clear gaze fixed on a point, staring at something far beyond the mortal realm.

A monster was coming for her and even Hector would not stand in the way.

Hermione was right.

A month on, Hector was slain. Andromache wept with their son in her arms, her eyes unseeing to Hermione's passive face.

There was no need to fear, for if fate brought Draco Malfoi to her, then the sharp edge of Hermione's jewelled comb would find her vulnerable flesh.

* * *

A/N: I know, Hermione is acting a little fatalistic, but hey...gotta have some drama, now I just gotta decide if Hermione will live or die, or perhaps I should kill Draco instead...

Anyway, Review!

Always,

Twilight


	3. End

A/N: And here we are at the end...it is actually 2 a.m. here in Australia and I have University tomorrow so I'm sure I'll be a real party...but thats not the point...ok...

Disclaimer: Don't own. Wish I did. Could quit Uni and take a holiday...

WARNING: Umm...gets a little explicit around half way down...ok...and pardon the spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm too tired to check it.

* * *

The Greeks were defeated and the entirety of Troy rejoiced. The town square was fraught with a chaotic jumble of aristocrats, merchants, commoners and street urchins alike; celebrating the retreat of their hated enemies. The wine and spirits flowed as free as the rivers and the heavens rained petals upon any passer-by.

Apollo was proud, they thought, as the sun shone with a blinding intensity upon the earth, Apollo was proud that his resilient people had driven their enemies from their lands and the walls of Troy remained unbreached.

Within the soldiers' barracks, the mood was as merry as the celebrating crowd and bawdy laughter echoed from every corner. Where the atmosphere would usually be severe and guarded, the revered general now turned a tolerant blind eye to his men as the wenches sat upon the soldiers' knees as they were regaled with tales of their bravery and skill. Sunlight poured through the open windows, creating dappled shadows upon the drunken faces of the celebrating men, their eyes alight with their unexpected victory for the Greeks had been struck down with a vicious plague; no doubt as punishment for befouling Apollo's sacred lands.

_Ready for another skirmish, in which neither side would give an inch, the Trojans marched upon their beloved land, their shields held steady in readiness for the piercing arrows which would sing through the sky as soon as the Greeks held them within their sights. As the heavy gates of Troy creaked shut behind their retreating footsteps, each soldier held the heady knowledge that they might never return home and never walk within those precious walls again._

_Despite days of endless battle, the battalion still felt the frightening touch of Hades, hovering just beyond; ready to claim the new inhabitants of his fiery underworld. He breathed every breath which escaped from their lips, shadowed every imprint their feet left upon the arid land, he was waiting, and in a strange way, so were the soldiers._

_As their feet carried them away from their home, their steps eating away the distance between the gates and an uncertain fate, the Trojans began to crouch, clutching their shields tighter, anticipating the rain of arrows as they crossed that invisible line into the Greeks' line of fire. Fear struck their hearts, laced with the boiling heat of battle fury and like the strike of lightening; Hades was flushed from their mind, valour taking his ominous place in the core of their souls._

_Seconds passed but nothing emerged from the sand banks, no arrows, no flames and not a single roar of advancing soldiers. Peeking cautiously from behind their shields, the Trojans were greeted with an incredible sight; an empty beach and a clear blue sea beyond._

_Subconsciously, their arms relaxed, their tight military formation becoming lax as confusion spread through their minds. Still suspicious and alert, their commanding officers growled orders at the underlings, causing the shields to rise once more. It served no purpose however, the lands were deserted, the beach was deserted and not a single ship darkened their waters._

_After several tense moments, a singular soldier dropped his shield, breaking from the regimented formation as he let out a 'whoop' of unyielding joy._

"_The Greeks have fled!" He shouted joyously. "The Greeks have fled!"_

_A great rush of armed men descended upon the abandoned beach but when they reached the scuffed white sands, the soldiers reared back fearfully, their eyes confronted by darkened corpses littering the beach like so much debris and at the centre stood the magnificent offering, a giant wooden horse made of aged and weathered wood tied together with strong braided rope._

"_Apollo have mercy, what on earth is that?" One soldier croaked hoarsely, forgetting the corpses which lay inches from his feet._

_Another answered, his voice tainted with awe. "A sign of peace; the Greeks have seen reason!"_

And there it stood, mighty and proud, yet humbled, just as the Greeks undoubtedly were by the grand Trojan walls. Pride swelled in the breasts of the soldiers each time they glanced at the mighty Greek gift, an offer, a supplication. King Priam had advocated peace and harmony for years, and now it seemed, he would finally achieve his most noble goal.

* * *

Paris twisted a rich dark lock around his fingers, tugging fiercely until the sharp pain began to diffuse through his scalp. Still, he could feel that unexplainable sense of anxiety. It was burning uncomfortably in his chest, slowly gnawing a hole through his flesh. Rubbing uncomfortably, his gaze flitted to the rough wooden horse which the soldiers had painstakingly dragged within the city walls.

A gift.

Surely not. Achilles would rather have slain his own mother than admit defeat and Agamemnon would send every last one of his soldiers to a merciless death before fleeing. So what was the meaning of this farce? Surely, the Greeks were up to something.

The only remaining Trojan prince sighed, wishing desperately for Hectors gentle guidance. He had taken his older brother's presence for granted, mistreated and taken advantage of him so many times, and now when Paris needed him most, the Gods had seen fit to punish him…no to punish Hector. Bitter tears rose to his eyes and he blinked them rapidly away, no, he would not disappoint Hector.

Fingering the hilt of the golden sword of Troy strapped to his waist, Paris steeled himself. King Priam wouldn't listen to reason, he had insisted on dragging the horse into the walls of the city, allowed his people to bask in this false sense of security. Surely, there was good reason to investigate before it was all too late?

Marching away from his balcony, Paris marched through his chambers and emerged into a cool corridor. He would check the horse, Paris assured himself. If not for the safety of his people, then surely for his own peace of mind. He nodded to himself, his steps becoming more assured, unconsciously taking on Hectors confident stride as he had taken on many of his brother's mantles for the past few weeks.

He hesitated, a thought blooming in his mind, worries once again eating away at his chest. Apollo damn him, he was a coward; he had allowed Hector to fight his battles, to stand up and defend him when he had suffered the retribution for taking Helen. And now Hector was gone…and what of Andromache and little Astyanax? Paris had barely had a chance to see them…well no; that was not entirely the truth. He had feared what he would see in Andromache's eyes. Perhaps grief, perhaps anger or perhaps what Paris feared the most; forgiveness.

As he passed the royal chambers, his ears were pricked at the sound of a sharp wail. Knowing without a doubt what that cry meant, Paris quickly strode into the rooms and located the wooden crib hidden among a wreath of fluttering curtains. His nephew called and Paris rather thought it was time to ask the child for forgiveness.

Almost dazedly, he ventured forward, watched as the beckoning curtains slowed to a gentle waver, the sunlight becoming dappled and shadowed. The crying continued, louder and louder until it was a sharp wail in his ear. Still Paris did not heed it; he continued to walk forward, afraid that at any moment, his nephew's cries would turn to accusatory words.

Paris almost wanted it. He wanted someone to scream and yell, to beat him till he bled so that he could be punished for his brother's death.

It wasn't his fault; they had all reassured.

Well no, Achilles had been the one to kill Troy's great warrior, but who had brought Achilles to these shores? Who had stolen another man's wife and taken her innocent sister along for the abduction?

All thoughts fled as his eyes gazed down at his nephew. Astyanax had calmed somewhat, perhaps he sensed a familiar presence or perhaps he simply wanted to stare at his father's killer, Paris didn't know. All he could see were those incredible royal blue eyes watching him, still rimmed from red with tears, reflecting his own gaunt features and the deep grief which lay there.

Hector seemed to stare at him through those eyes. How many times had Paris stared into his brother's incredible blue orbs, worshiped and yearned for the integrity and strength lurking just beneath the laughter? How many times had Paris vainly wished that he had inherited those eyes rather than his own rather darker eyes?

Gently, Paris reached forward and encircled the little boy around his delicate body, his hand cupping the riotous black curls so reminiscent of his father's. With touching fragility, little Astyanax leaned into his uncle's embrace, missing the strong masculine presence which had once been so profound in his life.

Tears welled in Paris' eyes once more. Gods, what had he done to this little boy, what horror had he brought on everyone around him by taking Helen and Hermione from Sparta?

But no, he shook his head, burying his face against his nephew's peaceful form. He would never regret Helen. He would love her till his dying day and never apologise for it. No matter what the world believed, Paris did love the beauty…she was so much more than what she seemed…

"Paris."

Spinning around, his eyes met the grief stricken gaze of Andromache, her beautiful visage lined with fatigue and a certain unknown expression which haunted Paris even when he tore his gaze away.

"What brings you here, brother?" She asked gently, no recrimination in her tone.

Swallowing the sudden guilt which threatened to drown him, Paris gently handed his nephew to her, his arms absently stroking the baby's hair before he relinquished him completely.

"I heard him crying. I just wanted to…well, perhaps he is hungry or cold…"

"He misses his father." Andromache whispered, her voice hoarse with something Paris did not want to fathom. "It is good you came, he must be missing you too…"

Suddenly drowned with sorrow, Paris fell to his knees upon the bruising marble, his hands wrapped in her gown as the long suppressed tears began to flow like a river breaking its banks.

"Apollo forgive me, Andromache…I am so sorry…I've brought this all upon our heads and…"

"No." The woman above him said fiercely; her eyes glittering with repressed tears of her own. There in those warm brown orbs, Paris did not see censure, anger or blame. Instead he saw an almost brutal fierceness which chilled him as it fascinated him.

"It is Achilles. He has come to these lands all in the name of glory, killing and pillaging as he pleases, careless for the innocents he hurts. You are not to blame." She took a deep breath, soothing her son as he fidgeted in her grasp. "Understand this Paris, blaming yourself will serve no purpose; either fight or forget."

The young prince steadied himself as he swayed on his knees.

"Briseis…" He whispered.

Andromache nodded. "Yes. He has wronged her too."

Both turned their minds to the young woman, still melancholy even in the loving embrace of her family. It was easy to see that she missed him, that her emotions for him conflicted with the image of the monster who had slain her most beloved cousin.

Sighing, Andromache shook her head. "Where is Helen? I thought she was seeking your company…the celebratory air seems to have gone to everyone's heads…"

Seeing that the dark moment had been summarily dismissed, Paris rose to his feet and smiled with bashful gratitude at his sister.

"You are all kindness, Andromache. I swear to you from now on, I shall love Astyanax as if he were my own."

She nodded and gently passed her young son to his uncle. Paris leant forward and placed a gentle kiss upon the crown of dark curls and closed his eyes.

_I shall avenge your father, little one._

His mind whispered the promise, his eyes intent on the little boy, all thoughts of the sinister wooden horse forgotten.

* * *

Her head hurt…no her throat burned…there was an acrid smell in her nose. And Apollo help her, she felt faint and…

Jolting awake from her troubled dreams, Hermione gasped for clean air, her eyes watering as she blinked away the heaviness of sleep and took another shuddering gasp. Something was wrong…instantly alert, she glanced around and saw the horrifying orange glow coming from her window.

She threw her sheets from her body and rushed to the balcony. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she laid eyes on the chaos below and suddenly, the desperate screams permeated her haze of shock. Cries wrenched through the air, tearing apart the peaceful night with agonising sadness.

The castle gates seemed tightly shut, the servants rushing to and fro, extinguishing a stream of burning arrows. Even from what she could see in the flickering darkness, the palace was still safe and intact; but beyond, the city was alight…little bands of frantic people rushing away from Greek soldiers…

Apollo have mercy! How on earth had this happened! How had they penetrated the city walls?

As the wind blew a cloud of smoke across her face, Hermione turned away, her eyes watering as she groped blindly. Swallowing the bile in her throat, she turned and forced her eyes open, squinting past the sudden cloud of murky grey which enveloped her peaceful sanctuary.

Sprinting from the orange backdrop of her rooms, Hermione emerged in the darkened corridor, breathing easier despite the distinct acrid taste of smoke on the back of her tongue.

"Briseis!" She choked out. "Briseis! Briseis come quickly, we must go find…"

Hermione paused in her search. The bed was empty, the sheets still tangled and pushed to the side. Instantly, Hermione's mind alighted with possibilities. Had the young priestess been taken by one of the Greeks? But surely not, the gates to the palace had seemed secure, the walls unpenetrated.

No, that wasn't entirely true. That was the main gate. There were many others leading into the palace; passages for servants, supplies and guard entrances…but surely…

No! Hermione's instincts reared its head and cold shiver ran down her spine. No, Troy had fallen. The Greeks had won. Paris had been right; there was something off about that horse.

With a burst of fear, Hermione backed out of the eerily empty room and ran. Her instinct screamed for her to leave…but Hermione knew she needed a weapon, something, anything…she couldn't run into a besieged city completely unarmed. Even if she couldn't wield a sword with skill like Hector, it was still worth having.

Even knowing the chaos which engulfed the city, her cool logic held her calm.

Hermione's steps whispered silently against the luxurious marble floors as she swept into her quarters, ripping away the decorative features, searching desperately for the jewelled dagger Paris had given her as a welcome…

A cool, strong arm encircled her waist as a calloused hand spanned across her neck.

"_My kitten…"_ Came the velvety purr. "_Have you missed me?"_

Hermione knew in an instant who the voice belonged to. She didn't need to be told twice. Gods…how had this man done this, how did he find her? Panic instantly chased away her calm and Hermione lurched forward, pitching her body away from him. His grip tightened instantly, the hand clenched around her throat, cutting off her air.

* * *

"Now, now, is that any way to greet your lover?" Draco murmured; his voice gruff as he lowered his head to her throat. Hell and heaven, she smelled exquisite, an incredible blend between honey and heat, an untouched innocent just begging for his attentions. As if she were confirming his thoughts, the body in his arms squirmed, rubbing against him as Draco hissed in agonised pleasure.

With a snarl, Draco bit her, pinning her strongly against his body. Satisfaction burnt through his body as her body bucked, a keening wail rising from her delicate, pouty lips.

She was so fragile, a wonderfully petite body held in contrast to his lithe muscled form. She was made for him, a gift waiting for him like a sacred promise held beyond sacred walls. That wonderfully graceful body arched as his fingers tightened convulsively, those wonderful sensitive cries rising to fever pitch as her eyes widened and fingers dug into his arm.

There was no effect anyway; she was too delicate to do much, her delicious movements heating his body to fever pitch. Shuddering convulsively, Draco allowed his fingers to loosen around her throat but he couldn't stop the jerking movements of his hips against her sweet flesh. His hand wandered from her throat and brushed lower to the soft swell of her breasts, bunching the material of her nightgown as he found the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was gasping, her body in a fit of movements.

"Now shall we try that again, kitten?" Draco murmured, his tongue flicking against the marks he left possessively on her skin. "Did you miss me?"

Hermione coughed and gasped desperately. "You _son-of-a-bitch_! You…!"

Draco laughed huskily. "Yes…my mother was a bitch. Sold me to the slave traders for opium…didn't quite understand what a monster she would create did she?"

"What do you want, sympathy?" Hermione choked out, her voice hoarse and as bruised as her skin.

"Are you aroused?" He asked ignoring her retort, his hot breath whispering against her throat, looming close again to bury his face in her wild curls.

A furious curse answered him and Draco bared his teeth in a feral semblance of a smile. The fingers around her throat closed again and he shook her roughly. Frantic, Hermione began clawing at his hand, digging her nails into his flesh until…without warning; she stopped, a hand drifting up the length of his arm, brushing his sensitive skin making Draco moan with genuine heat.

"That's it, my beauty. Be good, kitten…"

The glittering sharp teeth of a jewelled hair comb came sailing towards his head, clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grasp.

The arm around her disappeared instantly as he caught her descending wrist in a bone jarring grasp. Without thought, Draco smashed her hand against the wall, forcing a pained shriek from her constricted throat, making it sound more like an indefinable gurgle. The comb fell away from her hand, clattering to the floor, its noise echoing across the chamber with only some distant screams from the city interrupting the crisp sound of impact.

"Oh my beauty, that was a very foolish thing to do." Draco said, cool and calm. "This would be so much better for you if you choose to cooperate…" He allowed his voice to drift off suggestively, his hard body forcing hers against the wall.

Hermione remained resolutely silent, her tears glinting in the moonlight as her eyes stared away from him unseeingly; her face pressed the wall.

Draco felt a surge of pride as his pale silver eyes swept over her, taking in her defiant expression, her sweet soft body lifted to the tips of toes as her hands curled vengefully at her sides.

"Oh, that's my girl…my little kitten. How I love you…"

She made a strangled noise, her insolent façade dropping away for a moment before settling back into place, the icy coolness engulfing her features once more. Draco took no heed as he threw back his shock of blond hair, grounding his hips in slow, erotic circles.

Slowly as her air diminished, Hermione's delicate body sagged, her weakness forcing her to drop the glacial expression upon her face. Unwillingly, her body began sinking to the ground but when his body would give no leeway; her form slumped sideways and began to fall to the floor, his hand still tightly wrapped around her neck. Within moments, unconsciousness swallowed her mind.

Draco released her neck and gently cradled her limp body to his hard one. "That's more like it…be a good girl, kitten. I'll show you what euphoria is like…teach you the only way a mortal could reach the highest tiers of heaven…" With a lover's touch, Draco shifted her into his arms and lifted her, taking her body to her adjoining bedroom and laid her still form upon the twisted sheets.

She was golden goddess in the pale moonlight, all golden skin and hair like spun silk. Only a dark bruise marred her perfection. It bloomed upon her neck, finger shaped marks standing out in sharp contrast making Draco frown in displeasure. His wife's perfection should never be flawed by something so human, his mind whispered. She was a goddess and she would be treated like one…as soon as she accepted her fate.

Straightening, Draco began unfastening his armour, slipping the heavy metal plates away from his muscled chest before placing it noiseless in a stuffed chaise. Soon, the weathered leather padding followed, the sandals lay carelessly discarded and his tunic was torn roughly aside.

As he stalked back towards the bed, his muscles rippling under perfect, alabaster skin, Draco licked his lips at the tantalising sight of her beautiful form and with a surge of speed he was by her prone body, tearing her nightgown, shredding the soft material until her virginal flesh was bared for his perusal.

Stunning…so perfect…made just for him…utterly and completely irresistible.

With a growl of desire, Draco's lips latched onto her breast, sucking roughly, rolling the peaked nipple between his teeth before he released the dark aureole and biting the curve of the soft flesh.

"Wake, my kitten…"

Rough hands swept downwards, across her soft feminine skin and over a narrow waist and fragile hips. With satisfied murmurs rolling from the tip of his tongue, Draco reached her beautiful thighs and the ever so tempting thatch of curls at their apex. Long elegant fingers reached the sweet juncture and parted the yielding flesh…he released a hiss of displeasure as he found the luke warm dryness where molten slickness should have awaited him.

Cursing hoarsely, Draco stroked his hard member roughly as temporary relief and collected the dewy pre-come on the tips of his fingers. He reached forward and pushed aside her folds once more, coating her supple nether lips with his own fluid before searching for that ever so elusive bundle of nerves and pinched it between his fingers.

Even in unconsciousness, something seemed to register within her body as she twitched slightly, bringing her body closer to his insistent hands.

"_Good kitten, wake for your husband…"_

He stroked her again, rougher, harder, pinching and pulling until he drew a small senseless moan from her hoarse throat. She was beginning to heat; he could feel that beckoning mystery calling to him. Draco raised his middle finger to his lips and drew it into his mouth, coating it with moist saliva before reaching for her once more. Slowly, he eased his finger into that innocent canal, meeting a little resistance as he pushed further. Her unpenetrated walls were so magnificent, soft, tight and now…hot…

She began to burn, her thighs parting as those frail eyelids began to flicker with life.

"_My darling bride…burn for me…"_

And she did. His little beauty was so hot now, scorching and wet as his fingers continued to tease and play, stretching her pretty virgin flesh, his thumb still stroking that wonderful little nub in insistent sensual circles. The flesh parted willingly now, the musky scent of arousal rising to Draco's nose, making him laugh huskily.

He drew his fingers out of her now soaking wet cavern, arching with bone deep desire as her body greedily clamped down against his retreating fingers, trying to draw him back into her beckoning heat. Gods she was a temptation and Draco nearly yielded to her body's unsupposing desires, but no, he would fill her, just not with his fingers.

Draco shifted up her body and lowered himself to place an affectionate kiss upon her still lips. He felt her uneven breaths brush his face before he smashed his lips to hers once more, his teeth clashing with hers as he aligned himself at her lust warmed entrance, rubbing against the slickness.

The head of his cock dipped into that breathtaking illicit succulence and Draco swirled his hips, taunting and tempting himself until he was pushed to the brink of his sanity. Fierce groans wrenched his form as his body, wound tight as a bowstring, arched upwards, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

Gods above…this creature was made for seduction.

One fierce thrust…that's all it took…to reach pure heaven, to experience pure hell.

Draco never looked back.

* * *

Hermione knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes.

There was a creature of silver and shadows hovering above, retreating and surging forward with rhythmic smoothness, its cadence primal and as old as time. For a moment, Hermione couldn't comprehend what was going on…and then it shifted and a shaft of pre-dawn light hit his features.

"_Urgh…" _Hermione muttered unintelligibly. "No…"

She tried to shift her clumsy body and instantly realised her mistake. He was pinning her hips to the bed somehow…at that instant, the Greek surged forward and a ripple of blinding pleasure rippled through her secret core…

A shocked keening wail of desire was ripped from her throat, made even huskier by her bruised vocal cords.

"No…" She tried to gasp instantly realising what was occurring as Draco initiated another pleasure filled thrust.

"Whyever not, my sweet?" He purred gutturally. "Are you not enjoying yourself? Perhaps you would like it better this way…"

Draco increased his tempo, his cock sinking with unrepentant savagery into her. Again and again, his thick member stroked her lust soaked flesh; again and again she felt her walls stretch to the point of pain, and still clench ravenously to forbid his retreat. Gods in heaven…how was he doing this to her body?

She was screaming now, useless noises turned into wails…

"_Malfoi…"_ She hissed.

Draco opened his pleasure filled eyes. "Yes…" Thrust. "My sweet…" Thrust. "Temptation…?" Thrust.

Hermione didn't want to want him, but her body would not relent, would not stop burning for him, even as her mind shuddered and flinched away from his words, her body burned all the more fiercely, becoming slicker.

The Greek was smiling at her.

"Or perhaps…you would prefer a tender lover…"

Draco's thrusts slowed instantly until they became a leisurely grind, till the slow movements allowed her to feel every ridge and vein in that magnificent organ bringing her slowly to the brink of madness.

Gods!

Her body began clenching with unrelenting ferocity and her mind became clouded, her thoughts slipping away. There was a delicious fire spreading through her veins, spreading through her heart, infecting her mind.

Pleasure…agonising pleasure began to drown her in waves and tides and her breath hitched in her lungs.

Sensing her sweet completion, Draco abandoned the gentle thrusts and violently drove himself hilt-deep, nudging her womb as he hardened beyond the point of pain.

"Kitten…kitten…Hermione…_come…_"

There were tears streaming from her eyes now, of desire or pain, Hermione was no longer certain. All she knew for certain was that pleasure had never hurt so much…

Reluctant, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of her control, Hermione fearfully resisted that unknown storm descending upon her body, clenched her core in an effort to stave it off.

"No…no…no…what are you doing to me?" She pleaded, her eyes fixed on his rapturous face.

"Shh…shh…let go, my sweet. It will all feel brilliant when you let go…"

"No!" Hermione sobbed, her flesh closing with a vice like grip on his cock, making him hiss in deep lust. She wanted him to stop moving, to make that incessant burning go away. "Stop! No, stop!"

Even against her efforts, Draco could pull himself out and drive sharply back inside.

With a snap, Hermione shattered. A sharp unrelenting cry taking flight from her mouth and a blaze incinerated her flesh and leeched her of her strength. Deep inside her, her cavern burst with spasmodic convulsions. Unknowingly, Hermione choked Draco's cock and with a roar of unadulterated pleasure, he burst within her, flooding her womb with streams of burning seed as his body continued surging forward in relentless thrusts until he was thoroughly spent.

Her body, relaxing from its tense arc, softened in fatigue as she fearfully felt those iron strong arms close possessively around her spent form.

"My bride." He whispered darkly. "Tomorrow, we leave for home."

Hermione choked back an agonised cry. "Why?"

"To do this again and again and again…" Draco met her eyes, silver melting, mixing, sinking into gold. "So that you may bear me a dozen sons and a dozen daughters."

* * *

A/N: DONE! I love crazy Draco! You can probably tell that from my other stories...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little ficlet...and no, I don't think there will be an epilogue, but I would appreciate feedback for my future stories.

REVIEW!!

Always,

Twilight


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